To Kill a King (Hollowcliff Detectives Book 2)

by C. S. Wilde

  To Kill A King

  Hollowcliff Detectives Book 2

  C.S. Wilde

  TO KILL A KING Copyright © 2019 by C.S. Wilde

  ASIN: B07YDX78VN

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialog are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

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  Chapter 1

  Somewhere in the past…

  * * *

  As an assassin for the League, Bast loved nights like this. The overcast sky blocked any shred of moonlight, drenching the forest around him in a thick penumbra. It was a great advantage for an assassin, but a bad omen for many night fae, since most nightlings drew their powers from the moon. Contrary to most of his people, though, Bast’s magic didn’t come from the light.

  It came from the darkness.

  Le infini nokto drin wu hart—The endless night inside him.

  The darkness that filled his veins and his essence, the power exclusive to the royal house. Some called it a curse, others a gift, but it didn’t matter in the end. Magic didn’t explain itself, it simply was.

  Believing a moonless sky could be a bad omen was stupid—all omens were—except, this time, a grim sensation pricked Bast’s chest. The kind of grievous feeling that preceded a point of no return; the same sensation that overcame him moments before he’d killed his first victim.

  Funny. Bast had been only ten back then, but he’d assumed he would always remember the face of his first kill. The horror in their eyes, their screaming and crying, their futile begging. Yet, five years later, he couldn’t.

  Halle, Bast couldn’t even remember who he’d killed last week, and what they’d tried to offer in exchange for their lives. It was always the same—wealth, favors, sex, powerful spells…

  None of it mattered in the end. Death couldn’t be bargained with, and Bast was death.

  “Take your time,” Leon whispered beside him as they assessed the villa, hiding behind a dense row of bushes. “Be mindful of your surroundings. Not everything is what it seems.”

  Bast narrowed his eyes at his oldest brother.

  Leon had wavy hair trapped in a low pony, but a few loose curls framed his face. His eyebrows were as dark as midnight, and his skin a tone lighter than Bast’s own.

  One could say Leon resembled Father, but their eyes were different. Father’s were cold and blue; Leon’s warm and pink like Mom’s. And where the king was brutally cruel, Bast’s big brother was caring and kind.

  Also, insanely protective.

  A modest grin cut across Bast’s lips. “I know what I’m doing. There’s a stunning spell around the house, but it’s weaker there.” He pointed to the garden’s far left. “With a shield, I could cross it without trouble. I’ll be seen, obviously.” He turned to the guards on the upper right, middle, and center of the roof. “But I can take them all with my blade.”

  Which was the most fun way to kill, really. Using just his magic drained Bast’s energy and slowed him down. He was much quicker, more efficient—unstoppable, actually—with a blade.

  “From then on, it’s about eliminating everyone inside the house,” he continued, patting the sword strapped to his belt as one would pet a faithful hound. “That’s what the bounty said, yes?”

  Leon stared at him, a mix of shock and pride running behind his rosy eyes.

  Yes, Bast was a youngling, but he wasn’t any youngling. He was a fucking prodigy with the highest kill rate in the League. Master Raes himself said he out-performed his most experienced assassins. In fact, Bast had such a talent for bloodshed, that his friends had given him a nickname.

  Yattusei—Death-bringer.

  Slowly, Leon nodded. “Yes, your plan is solid, but you don’t have to go ahead with this. I’ve always believed you were too young to—”

  “Ignore him,” Corvus interrupted from behind Bast. The shig wore the same onyx battle leathers they did—the League’s uniform. He leaned against a tree trunk with arms crossed behind his head, his eyes closed as if he was relaxing by the freaking beach or something. “Leon is jealous of what you can do, little Yattusei.”

  Little Yattusei?

  Corvus was only six years older than him, that suket.

  There were five Night Princes: Leon, the big brother—literally, since he was stronger and taller than the rest of them—Benedict and Theodore, the twins; Corvus, the prick; and Bast, the perfect. Then came Stella, their half-sister, but she didn’t count since their father never acknowledged her.

  Stella was five, but already understood that faeries hated her for being the king’s bastard, and for being half-werewolf.

  Such a cruel thing for a five-year-old to know…

  Even Bast’s brothers hated her. Theodore himself often showed his dislike for the “cute aberration,” which meant a lot, considering he was a monk.

  They could hate her, though. Halle, the entire Lunor Insul could hate her, as long as they knew Bast would kill anyone who dared lay a finger on his sister.

  In fact, that had been his first kill. The assassin Father sent to kill Stella when she was just a baby.

  Bast had beheaded the shig, then barged into the throne room and threw the fae’s head at Father’s feet, if only to send a message.

  It was incredible how memories could resurface out of nowhere…

  “Thanks for the useless input, baku,” Bast snapped at Corvus.

  Baku meant fool, or moron, depending on the intonation, but Bast weighted the syllables equally so it meant both.

  Corvus chortled, but didn’t open his eyes. “Just being honest.”

  “You’re distracting him,” Leon pointed out bitterly, then turned to Bast. “Focus on the mission. Father himself commissioned it, so we cannot fail.”

  Leon and Corvus were also a part of the League of Darkness, as Father had once been, and his father before him. The twins, however, had chosen to break family tradition. Ben enjoyed the tomfoolery and endless fuckery that came with the job of being a rich prince, while Theo dedicated his life to worshipping Danu.

  Ironic that the two looked exactly the same, yet behaved like complete opposites.

  Bast frowned at Leon. “Who are we killing, by the way?”

  “You know better than to ask,” the wrong brother replied from behind them.

  Bast focused on Leon. Corvus might be right, but Bast would only take Big Brother’s word for it.

  “I have no clue,” Leon admitted. “Certain bounties are so secret, we can’t know who we’re killing. It seems that is the case tonight.”

  “Which is why daddy dearest asked the League to kill everyone in there,” Corvus scrambled closer. “Well, he asked you specifically, Bast. Which boggles the mind, doesn’t it? To ask a child to murder at least…” he narrowed his eyes at the villa, “… two faeries and three shifters.”

  Bast gritted his teeth, trying to channel his anger as Master Raes had taught him. Use it in his favor; control it before it controlled him. It was awfully hard sometimes, especially when it came to Corvus.

  “I may be young,” Bast snarled, his tone ice and stone, “
but don’t forget the name I’ve been given.”

  Grinning, his brother arched one silver eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you a child wonder, little Yattusei?”

  Bast shrugged off the tease, then crouched, building momentum in his legs. “See you on the other side, bakus.”

  He jolted toward a tree trunk, hiding behind it, before speeding closer to the back patio—all the while, his magic enveloped him in a shield. As Bast crossed the stunning spell, he felt a light fizzling on his skin, but nothing more.

  “There!” one of the fae guards on the roof shouted. The night was dark, but not enough to mask Bast.

  As his shield vanished, he grabbed two cursed daggers from his cross belt, and flung them at the faeries above him. Cutting through the guards’ weak magic shields, the blades pierced their foreheads right in the middle.

  “If an opponent goes down, make sure they don’t get up.” One of the many valuable lessons Master Raes had taught him.

  The fae’s bodies crashed down onto the lawn with a harsh thump, their arms and legs twisting in unnatural ways.

  Even under the darkness of a moonless sky, Bast could discern them as Father’s soldiers, nightlings with a duty to enforce Tagradian law in Lunor Insul, guided by the Night King himself. Yet, these soldiers were rogues.

  Why did they desert?

  No time to figure it out. The third guard, a wolf shifter, jumped from the roof. His landing—a proper crash, actually—shook the ground.

  Night guards aligning with wolves?

  Not impossible, but unlikely.

  Standing tall atop his hind legs, the shig had to be at least three times bigger than Bast. The wolfman’s claws sharpened as slobber dribbled down his jaw. Muscles bulged underneath his thick black fur.

  “Halle,” Bast grunted under his breath as the wolf joined both claws.

  He jumped back right before the beast wreck-balled the spot where he’d been standing not a moment before, leaving a hole on the ground.

  Without hesitation, Bast unsheathed his sword. The sleek blade glinted slightly, even underneath the cloudy weather.

  He dodged another attack from the wolfman, then swung his arm up. The blade cut across the werewolf’s neck effortlessly, opening a long, bloody gash that drenched his midnight fur with red.

  Stepping back, the wolf gasped, slamming his hands over the wound.

  Shifters in general had a penchant for healing quickly, so Bast had to make sure this one wouldn’t bother him again.

  Plunging his blade into the wolf’s heart, he twisted it once before yanking it back.

  The shifter’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, his legs caved in, and his body hit the ground with a loud thud. The massive wolf then morphed back to his human form, because, well… he was dead.

  Turning to the bushes, Bast flipped his brothers the middle finger, even if he couldn’t see them. Yet, another of Master Raes’ teachings invaded his thoughts.

  “Do not rest until the deed is done.”

  Good advice, as always.

  Bast faced the villa, and a sphere of darkness shot from his hand toward the glassed, patio doors, shattering them into a million pieces.

  He stepped inside.

  The place was eerily quiet, but Bast was called Yattusei for a reason. His shadows and stars were stronger than his vision, so he closed his eyes.

  A dim presence reverberated against his magic. It came from the top of the stairs where a werewolf waited for him; Bast could feel him stamped to his darkness.

  The beast had the high ground, so Bast couldn’t go to him. Instead, he shot a blast of magic upwards, and it pierced the floor next to the wolf.

  A fair warning.

  Growling, the wolfman jumped to the base of the stairs, and another shifter, this time a leopard, joined from the living room. Two giant, bloodthirsty beasts, ready to rip him in two.

  Bast didn’t panic, but he did fear. As Master Raes said, a fae without fear was a fool, but a fae in panic was dead.

  Concentrating on the advantages he faced, he took a deep breath. Bast was smaller than they were, which made him faster. Also, he had a shitload of magic.

  This battle was as good as won.

  He lunged forward. So did the beasts.

  Dodge. Turn. Pierce. Slash.

  As it turned out, he didn’t need to use magic. His blade had been enough, as usual. Falling limply onto the floor, the shifters’ bodies started to change back to their human forms, sticky red pooling underneath them.

  In the stillness of the night, Bast heard whimpering coming from a room on the second floor. This seemed to be the remaining presence in the house.

  The last kill.

  Gingerly going up the stairs, he made sure to avoid the hole his darkness had pierced on the second floor.

  Stifled cries came from behind a white door, and Bast couldn’t tell why dread filled him as he turned the door handle.

  He had ended lives before, both innocent and guilty. Mothers, fathers, daughters and sons, brothers and sisters, all for the League. Yattusei didn’t care about the bounty’s past, only their inevitable end.

  So why did he hesitate now?

  Opening the door, Bast gasped, his lungs failing him. “Idillia?”

  Father’s mistress took him in, her black eyes filled with shock, as she put down the knife she was holding. “Bast?”

  “Why are you here?” Looking around, panic set deep into his chest, and Master Raes’ teachings vanished from his mind. “Where’s Stella? Is she alright?”

  Recognizing his voice, his half-sister burst out of a closed cabinet, and wrapped her tiny arms around his legs.

  “Basti, Basti!” she cheered, giggling with a pure happiness inherent of small children. “Bad manies are after us, but they can’t beat you! We’re safe!”

  Bast’s throat became awfully tight.

  He was the bad manie.

  Sheathing his sword, he placed a hand over her head. “Of course you’re safe.” Tears pricked his eyes as he turned to Idillia. “Father wants you and Stella dead.”

  She scratched the back of her neck. “Not exactly old news.”

  “I know, but he left you alone after I killed the assassin he hired.” Bast figured that joining the League, and throwing an assassin’s head at Father’s feet would’ve done the trick. Apparently, he was wrong. But what had changed? And more importantly, why did he demand Bast kill them?

  He knew why, of course. That sick malachai would call it a show of faith. Everything was a show of faith when it came to that prick.

  “I want to leave Lunor Insul,” Idillia stated. “Stella and I can be happy in my home borough, Lycannie. But your father doesn’t want his shame to be known beyond the island. His pride is too great.”

  A certain hurt took over Bast. “I’ve always protected you both, and you’ve always been well cared for in Lunor Insul. Why would you take my sister away without telling me?”

  Shame flickered in her eyes. “It’s not that. You pay for our food, our home, Stella’s private lessons, all with the money from your bounties. It’s a heavy burden for a chi—”

  “If I’m old enough to kill, then I’m old enough to be considered an adult,” Bast snapped.

  “Fair enough.” She raised her hands. “But growing up here, Stella will always know hate. I don’t want that for her.”

  Chest tight, he looked down at his little sister, who buried her face in his legs. Yes, he loved her. Yes, he wanted her nearby, but he also wanted what was best for her, and Idillia wasn’t entirely wrong.

  “Sometimes, loving someone means letting them go,” the wolfwoman quietly added.

  Bast tapped Stella’s head, and she stared up at him with big blue eyes incredibly similar to his own. Big baby eyes filled with tears.

  “You up for this?” he asked.

  Stella nodded shakily. “I don’t want to leave you, Basti… ”

  Forcing a smile, he caressed her chin. “Everything will be okay, Baby Sis.” He turned to
Idillia. “I’ll figure something out, I promise, but don’t take my sister away from me. She’s the only thing—” his voice failed him. “If you stay, father won’t try to kill you and Stella. So, stay. Please.”

  Sighing, Idillia stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Staying isn’t the best for her. Here, she’ll always be a bas—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Say it, Basti,” Stella mumbled, tears in her voice. “I’m a basta—”

  “Quiet,” he snapped, knowing Stella didn’t understand the weight of the word, the trouble it entailed, especially in Lunor Insul, where adultery used to be a crime punishable by death—usually of the female and child.

  Thank the unification for banishing that.

  “Give me a couple of days. I’ll make sure father recognizes Stella as his own.” It would be impossible, but Bast had to find a way, otherwise he’d lose his sister.

  “Don’t lie to them, Sebastian.” Corvus’ voice rang from an empty spot near Idillia—he must’ve used an invisibility spell.

  Bast didn’t have time to react; his brother had already appeared out of thin air behind Idillia, and slashed her throat.

  Gasping, Stella’s mother stared at Bast as she stumbled back, collapsing on the wooden floor. Fur instantly began to spread atop her skin, since shifters healed quicker in their beastly form.

  “Step away from her!” Bast bellowed as Stella’s screams swallowed the space. She pushed against her brother’s legs, attempting to run toward her mother, but Bast kept a tight grip on her.

  He couldn’t let her get close to Corvus.

  “Save mommy!” she howled, but Bast couldn’t help Idillia and protect Stella at the same time.

  Keeping his focus locked on Bast, Corvus bent down and slammed his sword into Idillia’s chest, twisting the blade just like Bast had done to the shifter guard.

  The sound of meat being slashed wasn’t new to him, but this time, it clawed at his ears and ripped his soul.

  Idillia stopped moving, and the fur retreated into her skin.